Chapter 5-7

Spending your entire Saturday morning doing paperwork sucks. I'm a teenager. I'm supposed to be wasting my time and leave all of this to the grown-ups. Alas, it was not to be. Paperwork was always going to be a factor in my career as a superhero (as the other Wards reminded me), but that was doubly so if someone died during a mission. Rumor had it that the PRT's internal affairs commission would pay us a visit too one of these days. All according to protocol, of course. Still, irritating. They'd be better off sending me on patrol or something. Surely there was something more productive to do than writing…

And now I feel like a dick. People died, and I'm here complaining about it. Thank god people can't read my inner monologue. They'd probably think I was a cold-hearted, psycho bitch if they did.

Now that I thought about it, I couldn't help but wonder why I was being so okay about this. People I'd met had been killed and it just didn't bother me. At least, not on an emotional level. I was aware that I'd never see some of them again and I felt bad for their families, but I didn't collapse into tears or needed my dad to hold me for a while. I cared, but nothing more. Had I gone into shock? I didn't get that impression. I was still able to feel things, like a desire to put Alad's head on a pike, but there was no torrent of emotion that would compel me to run around and do something stupid like crying on the floor or going on a roaring rampage of revenge. Academically, I knew my thought processes made perfect sense: I had done everything I could and probably saved a lot of lives taking out those snipers first and the robots afterwards. I'd done nothing wrong, so curling up and crying like a baby was completely pointless. The only way to make things better now is to make sure the Boxheads get what's coming to them by writing down everything I could remember so that in a future engagement, we'll be more prepared and can take them down for good. This was a perfectly logical line of thinking and I couldn't find anything wrong with it.

Which begged the question: is it possible to be too sane? If yes, is that necessarily a bad thing?

Our jobs are violent. People are going to get killed and we can't always prevent that. I suppose there is an advantage to being able to distance oneself from this sort of thing like I apparently could. On the other hand, looking through what I'd written thus far, I became more than a little worried. A guy exploded in front of my face, showering me with blood and viscera, and I just went on as if nothing happened. Anyo would have blown my brains out if I hadn't, but still…

I could see how this sort of behavior might damage future relationships. I didn't want to get a reputation as a psychopath, nor as someone who didn't really care about others dying. Having friends again was nice and I didn't want to lose them over this.

Red stirred and finally started to wake up. I pushed a button on the side of the bed, calling for a nurse. They might have already noticed, but I wanted to be sure. Playing psychologist for a very angry parahuman was not part of the Wards' job description.

The woman looked up and went rigid. Her muscles started to tense and I got the distinct impression she was trying to find something resembling a weapon. Not that surprising, considering her situation. "Easy. You're safe here." I didn't get the impression that it worked. "You're in the hospital wing of the Protectorate Headquarters. No one's going to hurt you."

The woman glared at me, but didn't speak. Her eyes briefly darted all over the room, probably scanning for threats. She acted like a wounded animal that hadn't realized that it's not in danger anymore. If my gut was right, she'd violently lash out if she thought I was the enemy. Considering what I'd seen her do with those claws…Yeah, let's not. I like to keep my vital organs, thank you very much.

Wait, could Red even speak English? I hadn't heard her say anything, aside from the screaming, of course. Dammit, this is really the sort of thing I should've asked first! "Do you understand me?"

"Yes." She finally replied. Her voice was weak, yet terse.

She spoke. Only a single word, but some progress is better than none, I suppose. "We're not going to hurt you. This is a hospital. We're going to heal your wounds the best we can. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Again, a one word reply. Irritating.

"Then relax and stop looking for weapons. You're in a hospital, you don't need one."

The woman's shoulders relaxed a little, but I could tell she wasn't at ease. "Those without swords can still die upon them. I would be…more comfortable, if I had something to defend myself with."

I snorted. If there was anything powerful enough to hurt her, I doubt a weapon would really matter much. "Yeah, sorry, I don't think that's going to happen. Seriously, you don't need a weapon, I've seen what you can do." Rip me in half with your bare hands, I mentally added.

Red flinched, just a little. "I…apologize. I thought you were…you were with those other men. The greedy men…" The way she spat the words, it was obvious who she was talking about. Still, this was good. At least attacking us was a genuine mistake and she had the decency to feel bad about it.

"The Boxheads…" I finished for her. "It's the name we've given them, the people we found you with."

"I see." She replied. Red wasn't the conversational type, wasn't she? Scratch that, I had to practically crowbar information out of her. Where the hell are the doctors and the trained professionals? Right outside, my power told me, along with Miss Militia and a dozen guys with foam guns. They probably didn't want to crowd her and were hoping I could start some sort of conversation with her first. Great.

Oh well, it could be worse. At least Armsmaster isn't around. That could have ended badly.

What to ask next? How could I get her to open up? "Right. Hi, I'm Banshee. What's your name?"

Red stared at me. Not glared, stared. She was thinking. Wait, why would anyone need to think about what their name was? Isn't that like…the simplest thing in the world? The first thing every child learns? Was she trying to make something up? Hide her identity? If so, why? Was she a villain? I certainly hope not.

"I… I do not remember." She stammered. "I do not remember anything…flashes, I…"

Or she could have retrograde amnesia and I was just two steps short of throwing false accusations in her face. Great. See, this is why you send professionals to do this sort of thing. Seriously, why did they put this in the hands of a teenage girl with zero social skills and crippling shyness?

Oh right, I was the only one she hadn't try to kill yet. Just my luck.

I took a deep breath. "Okay, that's bad. I don't suppose you know what the Protectorate is, right?" She shook her head. "Well, the Protectorate is the largest superhero organization in America. It's designed to help parahumans like us."

"Parahumans?"

"People with powers, like you with your invulnerability trick."

"I see…" I got the impression that she thought I was being dishonest somehow. Given what she's been through, I couldn't really blame her for being paranoid. "This…Protectorate you speak off…You call it a 'superhero organization', but what is its purpose?"

If she had no memory, she probably didn't know what things like superheroes are or what they did. Should have seen that coming. "Short answer: to protect the people and integrate parahumans into society." Not that they were all that successful, but I left that unsaid.

"And what does it want from me?"

That…was a difficult question. "Right now, we want to make sure you aren't a danger to us." Red clenched her fists and shot an angry glare my way. I think she even growled. Smooth Taylor, very smooth. "Try looking at this from our perspective here: the first thing you did was beat the crap out of my boss. Yes, there were extenuating circumstances and I don't think anyone's going to make a fuss over this, but that doesn't change that you're terrifying when you're angry. We just want to make sure that you aren't going to kill us or anyone else."

Surprisingly, Red's anger faded. She just nodded and said: "I understand. My apologies. I have made a poor first impression. Were any of your people harmed?"

"Not by you." I answered morosely. "Thankfully, you stopped before you tore Armsmaster a new one. Speaking of which, why did you stop? Not that I'm complaining or anything…it's just that I'm not that persuasive."

It took a while before she answered. "You…" She had this oddest look on her face before continuing. "I think you reminded me of someone…an ally, or a friend. I do not know for sure."

I nodded. "Okay. Well, that's good to hear, I guess…I need to check in with my superiors. Just stay put, I'll be back soon."

I calmly (or at least, as calmly as I could manage) walked out of the room and closed the door behind me. Turning to a waiting Miss Militia, the doctor, and a small army of nervous looking troopers, I asked: "So, what happens now?"

The doctor spoke first. "Well, she seems reasonably stable. At least, right now. Of course, I'm not a psychologist and a five minute conversation isn't enough provide us with anything conclusive. That said, I'd prefer to be cautiously optimistic."

"So, we treat her like a Case 53, then?" Miss Militia asked.

He shrugged. "I suppose. Even if she doesn't have the characteristic brand, she does appear to have amnesia and an obviously inhuman appearance."

"Assuming she isn't lying about the amnesia part. I didn't get the impression that she was, but still…"

"A good point," The doctor noted "but given what she's been through…I'm willing to give her the benefit of the doubt for now. Let's not assume the worst right away. At least, not in her presence. As for the long term…"

"We don't know enough about her to make decisions for the future. She needs to talk to a psychologist before we even think about that."

"With all due respect, ma'm," I interrupted "I don't think she'll like that very much. Honestly, if I were in her shoes, I'd want to know what's going to happen to me."

"So would I, to be honest." Miss Militia replied with a sympathetic look on her face. "It's just that I don't have an answer to give her right now. We can't let her go until we're absolutely sure she isn't a danger to society. Besides, it's not our call and I know Armsmaster and Director Piggot won't make a decision without more information."

Not the answer I was hoping for, but I couldn't fault them for feeling this way. I just hoped Red felt the same way.

"We should go inside. I don't want to leave her alone for too long." Jackson finally decided, before turning to the troopers behind him. "You men stay out of sight."

"Your funeral, doc." One of the troopers said. "Just shout the magic word and we'll come rescue you."

"Oh, what was it again? Ah, I remember: 'Oh god, my spleen!' Good to remember." The doctor quipped back. He picked up a packet of clothing. Plainclothes for Red, I assume.

Was I supposed to call her 'Red'? She probably had a real name, even if she couldn't remember it.

Red inspected us as we walked in. Her eyes fell on the doctor first, or more specifically, his lab-coat. She glared at him for a moment before turning to Miss Militia. When faced with the superhero, she looked…amused, I think, or maybe not. She was hard to read.

Her glare turned back to the doctor. "More experiments?" She said, coldly. Her tone was unnerving.

To his credit, Jackson didn't even flinch. "No experiments. My name is Doctor Jackson. I make sick people better."

"That is what the other one told me. Said he was 'improving' me…" My heart went out to the woman. She sounded so…defeated. Angry too. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because I do." I quickly added before things could get any worse. "There'll be no experimentation. If he tries, I'll break his legs. Assuming the other superheroes don't get to him first." Miss Militia formed a pistol in her hands, backing me up.

That seemed to be enough for Red. I'm not sure why she seems to trust me, but I'm glad she does. I didn't look forward to fighting her, for more reasons than one. She accepted the pack of clothes, pulled herself upright, and shifted.

Wait, what?

Human-like skin melted over her body, while her face ripped itself to pieces and seemed to be pulled into her skull. In less than a minute, I watched her turn…human, just like…just like…

Me.

What. The. Fuck.

Seriously, what the fuck? Horrible, agonizing, face-melting transformations, that's my thing! How's she able do it? Aren't powers practically unique, except in really specific circumstances? Also: holy crap, that looked nasty. I need to get Vista some ice-cream, immediately.

Red looked at her now human body. Well, mostly human body. There were still two devices literally bolted through her arms and something attached to her neck. Judging by discolored skin around the entry points and the way she clenched her fists as she looked at them, I'm guessing they weren't supposed to be there. Thankfully, she managed to control herself, taking a few deep breaths before slowly getting dressed.

My thoughts had pretty much ground to a halt at this point.

"Is something wrong?" Red asked us. "You are staring."

I looked at the doctor and Miss Militia. Slack-jawed wouldn't even begin to describe the stunned looks on their faces.

Miss Militia was the first to recover her tongue. "Yes, sorry. I didn't realize you could transform like…well, like Banshee can."

"You mean you can't?" Red replied, immediately looking a little suspicious.

There was only one coherent thought left in my head: this was going to be a long day, wasn't it?